Tournament
by idkwmgtis
Summary: A brief glimpse into an event arranged by Ferox in the years following the war against Grima, in which champions from that war and from the continent all gather to represent their countries and lords in an international tournament. The biggest upset came from combatants whose ties were to a country from an outlying continent. Perhaps they hail from a land past the Outrealm Gate?
1. The Duel

On normal days, which had only fairly recently become common, the only things that were audible across the roads of Ylisse were the mulling about of merchant caravans and the screeches of various birds of prey. These sounds were usually fairly audible in the Arena Ferox, as the crowds drawn to the Arena, though loud, were not enough to drown out a falcon's screech or the sound of merchants peddling their wares.

Today, however, surprised even the Feroxian Khans who so dutifully maintained the Arena. The sound of the combatants drawing their weapons was immediately followed by an uproar that was so loud, the falcon would no longer be noticed, and the merchants' calls were drowned out, even in the Arena's entrance.

A royal musketeer, one of Montellier's best, was facing off against Lon'Qu, a Feroxian member of former Prince Chrom's warband, raised during the war with Grima that had so weathered the continent. The musketeer, a veteran of the wars that followed the reformation in his own country, raised his rapier so that its hilt was parallel to his body, dividing his face, before quickly snapping the rapier back to a ready position at his side. Like all Guardian musketeers, he was incredibly proficient with his rapier. Many enemies had fallen to his weapon in just a few strokes. As a result, the sight of the young man standing before him with his sword tossed lazily into the ground didn't daunt him whatsoever. Still, he maintained his military bearing, and gave his respect to his foe. He saluted Lon'Qu by tipping his hat, and waited for a response.

Lon'Qu, his hair disheveled, and his posture questionable, drew his Killer Edge from the floor of the Arena, and taunted the musketeer by swiping his thumb across his nose. Before the Guardian could even process this somewhat petty show of disrespect, Lon'Qu rushed forward, trying to astonish his opponent with a war cry.

The musketeer raised his rapier once more. "Alors, on y va!" He responded, with a charge of his own, and the crowd bellowed. Lon'Qu swiped first, taking a slash that used his speed to maximize the potential damage. The musketeer, who had felled champions that were revered in their own organizations, saw this a mile away; he leapt back just as Lon'Qu swiped, and used the tip of his rapier to catch the edge and offset Lon'Qu's momentum.

Lon'Qu's arm was thrown upward by the force of the rapier, and the musketeer began his own assault, thrusting when Lon'Qu deflected a slash, and slashing when Lon'Qu deflected a thrust. With each deflection, Lon'Qu's edge was batted further and further away from his body, until he wasn't able to bring it back to his center in time to deflect yet another blow from the musketeer. The musketeer had been counting on this. He crossed his rapier's handguard with that of Lon'Qu's Killer Edge, and, in a deft circular motion of his rapier, he sent Lon'Qu's blade sailing across the Arena.

Before Lon'Qu could adapt, the Musketeer withdrew his rapier, tucked in his gloved fist, and span around, delivering a punch as his fist passed the air in front of Lon'Qu's face. As the Feroxian was thrown to the ground, the musketeer plunged his rapier into the ground next to Lon'Qu's face.

The crowd swelled with applause, and the young Guardian took his hat in hand and bowed to the crowd and his opponent, as his own code of chivalry, and his military's code of honor, compelled him to do so. Lon'Qu remained on the field, eyes wide and breath heavy, as the musketeer collected his rapier with flair, and walked off the Arena into the spectator area, surrounded by newfound fans.

One of the spectators was Chrom himself, settling into his new role as regent of Ylisse. He often tried to make appearances around the allied nations of the country, and this event epitomized that. The Feroxi, the Ylisseans, even the Valmese and Plegians were all present, in some form or another, usually by some spectators and a representative of their respective leaderships. The Guardian Federation, a very young nation that had no land claims on the continent, but a strong alliance with the Ylisseans, even found themselves participating, and quite frankly, surpassing everyone else in this international tournament.

Chrom was dumbstruck, as a matter of fact; Lon'Qu had bested almost all of Prince Chrom's war party in practice matches, including Prince Chrom on one occasion. Chrom had seen Guardia's soldiers fight several times, but he was still impressed when he saw them operate as they did. With him were his daughter and sister, and they were just as impressed. His daughter, Lucina, made a minor exclamation, before imagining with Lissa, Chrom's sister, what their training was like.

In fact, the two duelists were polar opposites. The musketeer, like the rest of the corps, was extremely proficient with many weapons, and was the picture of professionalism. In war, Federal musketeers served as officers when grouped with the line infantry employed by Guardia, and when fighting in a full company of musketeers, they served as the elite infantry of the Federation. They were extremely well rounded, capable of fighting at range with muskets, a weapon so odd and alien to the continent, the concept of it still eluded Ylisse and its neighboring countries. The Federation very much enjoyed the exclusivity it maintained with this technological advantage. Still, the Guardian Federation prided itself on well-rounded soldiers. The infantry usually fought with fixed bayonets, effectively turning every mainline soldier into a devastating CQB unit or groups of them into devastating firing lines. Tercios split their weaponry down the middle; half carried heavy pikes while the other half carried muskets, creating a defense that shattered ranged assaults and broke charges like glass against a wall.

Musketeers embodied this idea of a jack of all trades. They could just as easily lead a charge, rapiers in hand, as they would hold a besieged fort. Taking on a master swordsman was as familiar to them as firing volleys into a line of advancing enemy infantry. They could lead soldiers as well as they could follow orders, and their code of honor and chivalry made them tenacious, unwavering, and resolute in combat.

Chrom looked at the special spectator boxes to his left and right; to his left, Khan Flavia and Khan Basilio both shrugged, and to his right, three men in various degrees of armor looked over the arena, apparently discussing the duel. These men were some of the heads of the Federation's military, Captain of the Guard Arnaud Montellier, Sr. Santiago del Santa Fe of the Royal Conquistadors and the Soldados Tercios, and the leader of them all, the Luminaire himself. After a moment, Montellier shook the hand of both of his comrades and took his leave, appearing moments later across the Arena to receive his champion with the rest of the Musketeers at his side. They briefly presented and then ordered arms, then began celebrating this new victory in the name of their organization and their country.

Two matches were left in the day's tournament, but Guardia's victory in this particular tournament seemed certain. Next, Monsieur Montellier himself would battle Khan Flavia; Chrom already saw her making her exit to prepare for the bout. Captain Montellier was standing at the entrance of the wing, his corps' colors flying over his head. Over the elaborately designed rampant and embroidery on the colors was the script, "12é Mousquetaires de la Garde". He stood there, leaning against the wall and simply looking over the arena.

After the bout between Montellier and Flavia, del Santa Fe and Basilio were to conclude the tournament with one of their own. Basilio was renowned for his strength and tenacity in singular combat, but apparently Santa Fe had the strength to match. A story circulated around the arena of a time when he had singlehandedly shattered an assault on a small watchtower overlooking his forward base, exhausting all of his ammunition before waiting at the top of the spiral staircase, pike in hand, for the enemy soldiers to charge in. After an hour, a quick reaction force of Federal Minutemen was on the scene, and they beheld a scene composed of approximately forty dead or incapacitated assailants, and Santa Fe, bloodied and with unrecognizable armor, stood roaring at the top of the staircase, pike in one hand and the enemy's colors in the other…


	2. CPT Montellier vs Khan Flavia

CH2: Khan Flavia vs Captain of the Guard Montellier

Arnaud Montellier looked like an old man. Little grey hairs were visible in the field of jet black that was his facial hair. He had striking silver eyes, but as striking as they were, they were weary, and even somehow kind. He had a thin, mildly smug smile, which he wore as confidently as his rapier. His uniform was meticulously maintained, and the combination of flair and military equipment cleverly laced into his uniform gave him the bearing of a very professional man, which Flavia silently respected. Still, as they took their places in the arena's center, Khan Flavia couldn't quite see how this man had accomplished any of the feats that were attributed to him by the spectators in the arena, who had heard of these exploits from the visiting soldiers themselves. Apparently Montellier was even romanticized within his own army and even his own corps, and frankly, Flavia couldn't understand why. Still, she decided not to underestimate the man, and as the bout commenced, she decided that pressuring the man and overwhelming him was the best way to shatter the precise method she saw the musketeers fight with.

Unfortunately, this was exactly the kind of enemy that Montellier always expected to fight. He had excelled in the last war by manipulating furious, desperate, or otherwise reckless opponents into lashing out carelessly, opening themselves to a vigorous thrust from a rapier at an opportune time, or a simple parry that felled champions on its own. When Flavia rushed at him, sword crashing down from overhead, the instincts he had honed during the war that had just pushed him and his country to its limits snapped into place. Flavia was surprised when the man before her rushed forward rather than lock his stance like she expected, and before she could weigh this out in her mind, he suddenly dashed to his right, her left, and quickly swept her leg as she ran with a quick motion of his elaborate boots.

Flavia took pride in her quick thinking, and she managed to realize what happened, recovering by rolling off the large, shield-like armor affixed on her arm. She thought this was enough to catch the good Captain off guard. She turned to deliver a blow to what she thought would be the Captain, satisfied by his own work, but she swung at air. Montellier had enjoyed the time he needed. As she absorbed the view of the empty arena in front of her, out of the corner of her eye, he struck. The tip of his rapier glided down the armor guarding her core, and when she flinched from the mild, but sharp pain that followed the precise path his sword had traveled, she gave Montellier the opening he needed.

Still, he underestimated her; he managed to press his attack for a few seconds, before she tucked her armored arm in front of her face, bouncing Montellier's rapier off of the reliable metal that protected her. As his attack glanced off of her armor, she slashed in front of her, cutting the elaborate cloth coating the chain mail Montellier wore for protection. He rushed in for a moment, catching the handguard of her blade with the painstakingly modelled paired snake hilt of his rapier, and jerked his hand to the right forcefully, nearly causing her to lose grip of her own weapon. Then, as she tried to reorient herself, he began to test her with a series of quick, broad swipes, and the occasional low-risk thrust.

Flavia again tried to overwhelm him, lashing out with all of the power and zeal that she resided in her, crashing her sword down on his defensive strokes, as if hoping to break his rapier instead of outmaneuvering it. Flavia generally did not tire easily, but the more she saw him standing fast without faltering and without so much as wincing – hell, she even saw a slight smile forming under the trim moustache of the musketeer – she began to grow weary. After what seemed like an endless number of slashes, she grew tired, and hesitated for a single moment.

That was it. Montellier had found the figurative chink in the armor, and he took no time to pierce it. He let out a flurry of quick attacks. Whenever Flavia attempted to offset the momentum the man had gained, he would let her strike just to parry the attacks, stacking the momentum even more. Finally she failed to raise her sword arm again, and Montellier raised his shoulder and rushed into her armor, throwing her on her back, scattering dust in the air. In the split second before he made contact, she managed to glance into his eyes again. She no longer saw a weary captain, but a weathered soldier. In his silver eyes, she saw the lines he had broken and the champions he had bested in single combat. She saw the soldiers he had lead and lost, and the marred battlefields he had overseen. He expressed himself thus with his swordplay, his bearing, and his tenacity.

Her armor made a loud clang as it hit the arena floor. The sound of the rapier piercing the earth to her left, the musketeer's right, was made as he plunged it into the ground next to her to indicate her submission. Khan Flavia had been beaten. She was renowned for her cunning in a country where brute force prevailed, and here she had been outplayed by a man with feathers in the hat he was now bowing with. He saluted her the same way the other musketeers had their opponents, raising his sword in front of his face before snapping it to his side. The whole of the Feroxi in the crowd began to pour their will into the remaining match, between Santiago and Basilio. While they made their wishes known to each other, Flavia was helped up by the Captain of the musketeers, and after he smiled faintly, bowed once more, and walked off towards his men and his Luminaire, she silently resolved to find him later to learn about the wars the Federation had fought. The look in his eyes as he knowingly concluded the match was enough to make her curious.


	3. OSR Santa Fe vs Khan Basilio

"Group, atten _tion_!"

The soldiers milling the wing assigned to the visitors all suddenly snapped to the position of attention, immediately sheathing their swords or aligning their rifles at their sides so that they were flush with their bodies. They all stood side by side, lining the walls of the wing with unblinking faces and well maintained uniforms. Captain Montellier stood at the entrance of the wing, his silhouette casting a shadow into the hall. He had just won his bout, and had hoped to replace his torn uniform with a spare in his rucksack. Still, he was glad that even the soldiers that were from other corps in the Guardian military maintained their bearing even at an event like this.

"Carry on." He gave the order with as much a carefree tone as he could. He smiled as he passed the soldiers from all the corps, and once inside the complex of the arena, he removed his hat and made his way to the room the Khans had granted the visiting soldiers to store their equipment. He found his rucksack stacked against Santa Fe's, and carefully removed it to keep the contents of the conquistador's hastily packed rucksack from spilling out. He had changed in three minutes, and considering that his uniform consisted of an overcoat, chain mail, and undercoat, an undershirt, his boots, pants, and the various medals and other accessories that adorned his uniform, three minutes was a good time. He couldn't simply swap out the torn coat; changing one piece meant changing the ensemble.

He walked into the spectator box where his commander, the Luminaire, and the champion Santa Fe had been during his bout. He was surprised to see the regent of the host country, Chrom, accompanied by his family and some of his friends, speaking with the Luminaire. Santa Fe had a smug, but jolly smile on his face, hidden under his extremely bushy beard, as he steeled himself for the battle that would take place in the next hour, concluding the multinational tournament.

"I wouldn't know; I only brought the men you see in this arena." The Luminaire had his arms crossed, leaning on one leg slightly, with a mixed look of concern and a defensive posture that seemed as if he took offense to something. Chrom suddenly looked uncomfortable. "Oh, no, you misunderstand me. I wasn't suggesting that your men were responsible. I simply meant to convey that you could lend us some of the soldiers here to help suppress whatever has been conducting the raids. Plegia, Valm, and Ferox are already building parties to search out the raiders. I merely hoped that with such a considerable force, you could do the same." Chrom was clearly older than the Luminaire, but the conversational roles the two played seemed to indicate otherwise. Montellier, ever observant, noticed that Chrom was borderline submissive, apologizing and praising their country profusely. The Luminaire seemed oblivious to this, still considering how Chrom had phrased his initial query.

The Luminaire was an unimposing man. He was of a medium build and medium height. He dressed well, but not as elaborately as Montellier or the other musketeers. Today he wore white robes, red trimmings lining the garment. The robes were hooded, but the Luminaire rarely wore the hood. His boots were laced tightly and cuffed neatly, and he wore several weapons, a rapier, two flintlock pistols, and a small, concealed dagger. He usually carried a small, black backpack with him, but now he had it tucked to the side of the room for the event. He had very kind, brown eyes, and usually wore a slight smile, which made him approachable by his men, his enemies, and strangers alike. His hair was neatly pressed forward, and his simple method of grooming it (simply smoothing it out in the mornings) resulted in his hair having a natural look where it met the crest of his forehead. Unlike Montellier and Santa Fe, his facial hair was subtle, and it seemed more that he had forgotten to shave on any given day rather than he wanted facial hair, and perhaps that was the honest circumstance.

He was very young, but he was weathered. He had been conscripted into a particularly brutal war when he was a child, initially an effort of some soldiers to help the boy escape a war zone. He had gone on several journeys where he trained his sense of strategy and resource management, and eventually became something of a sellsword, wandering about, accompanying heroes in their own journeys, until he had come to Guardia, and, with the trust of the regent confided in him, completely reformed the military and government of the nation. All diplomatic and military concerns were funneled through him, while domestic, cultural, and ceremonial issues fell to the ruler of the nation. Even now, though younger than Chrom and much of his war party against Grima, he had proved himself more than capable when they stumbled upon him at the Outrealm Gate, and it wasn't long after making contact with Prince Chrom that soldiers of the Guardian Federation funneled through the gate.

Guardia made zero claims on the continent, but established an embassy in the capital city Ylisstol. The Luminaire, although a tad sentimental, was a very trusting man, and made an effort to befriend everybody, which landed him in the good graces of the new Exalt. He had even befriended Chrom's tactician, and proved to be her match in practice matches of strategy and combat prowess. He noted that he had gone on a very similar journey to theirs somewhat recently, and one got the feeling after extended conversation with him that he was more experienced than he let on.

"Oh, sure… sure. I bet most of them are anxious with boredom now that the tournament is concluding. I'll have a company dispatched within the next two hours-unless you feel that more force is required?" Chrom took little time to think. "One company in your army means around 200 soldiers, right? That should suffice, as you have the advantage when it comes to weaponry. If anything, it's either an organized group of brigands, or Risen that are still cropping up. I'm sure your army can handle it."

"Well, I'm happy to lend some forces. I just ask that they be led by an officer of mine; normally I would entrust them to the officers serve you, my ally, but I worry that they may incorrectly or hazardously implement men with weapons they have no familiarity with." The Luminaire was no longer being defensive, as he had been cleared of the charges he thought himself accused when Chrom had clumsily tried to insinuate the commitment of Guardian forces in Ylisse.

Montellier, keeping his distance because the conversation was not his to hear, took notice of Chrom and his party. Chrom carried himself well. What Montellier understood to be the symbol of the royal family was marked on the prince's arm; the musketeer incorrectly assumed it was a tattoo. Still, while he normally saw the prince treat everybody with the same respect and self-confidence, while making his case to the Luminaire, Chrom was surprisingly careful and almost even submissive. This changed as the conversation developed and Chrom saw that the Luminaire was not unlike himself, but it was still notable when Montellier had arrived.

His daughter, who Montellier recalled to be called Lucine (or something close to that) stood behind her father, slightly positioned to his right. She was almost her father's age, an anomaly that the Luminaire had explained to Montellier as a result of travel like the Federation had undertaken to arrive in this continent. Travel through the gates was becoming so common to the Guardian soldiers that their more ambitious citizens were using secured ones to make a sort of map to the various Outrealms, so Montellier wrote this phenomena off as a (perhaps intended, if stories were to be believed) side effect of travel through certain gates.

She had her father's dark hair, and wore his sword, even though it was too large for her. According to the Luminaire she had managed to train around it, and fought with it as well as she would with a rapier, if not better. She looked uncomfortable during the entire conversation, even to the point where Montellier, normally unshakable in his bearing, felt awkward and even anxious for a few moments.

The remainder of the conversation was fairly interesting, but as it dragged on, Montellier's mind began to drift. Before long, Chrom thanked the Luminaire for his support, and left with his party, as a young steward came in to remind Santa Fe that his bout was starting soon, to which he replied with a hearty laugh and the clap of his halberd on the stone wall as he hastily picked it up. Montellier smiled at his friend as he passed, and Santa Fe happily clapped his hand onto Montellier's shoulder as he passed him in the threshold. The Luminaire greeted him warmly, and they quickly discussed which companies would be sent to subdue the mysterious raiders. After agreeing on a fairly standard strategy, the Luminaire, as if aware that the musketeer had mentally been miles away from the conversation, informed him that they were invited to the regent's own spectator's box, a social and diplomatic obligation which both the captain and commander intended to fulfill.

They walked in as the combatants took their places. Basilio looked as if he felt incapable of losing, and Santa Fe looked as if he was simply partaking in a favorite hobby, mild smile and all. The two Guardians began to mingle with the locals as the bell rang and the two combatants took their first steps towards each other.

While the fight between Flavia and Montellier was one of analysis and individual strategy, it was clear that Santa Fe and Basilio weren't concerned with anything similar. They both rushed at each other, Basilio boasting a war axe and Santa Fe clutching the halberd that his Soldados Tercios made so famous. They immediately engaged in what was essentially a high stakes game of chicken. Neither of them panicked. They crashed into each other, rebounding off of their armor. They both immediately regained balance, sliding backwards on the floor, scattering dust in the air.

Basilio was dressed as he always was, armor that was somehow elaborate and carried a tinge of savagery simultaneously. Santa Fe was dressed more simply, and arguably more practically. While Basilio's armor was inconsistently placed, Santa Fe's armor placement made sense. His core, being the largest part of his body, and therefore the easiest to strike, was protected by a large breastplate that crested in the middle. He had ruffled sleeves, and wore painstakingly designed vambraces that, aesthetically, only served him, as those same sleeves (which looked to belong to a nobleman's casual set of clothes) completely covered them. His opted not to wear gloves unlike many in the Guardian military, and was said to have claimed it made him a hardier fighter.

The two fighters, surprised that the other had not collapsed from the collision, stood for a moment, simply staring at each other, breathing audibly. They weren't analyzing each other or studying tactics, like Montellier and Flavia had. Rather, they simply imagined the defeat of their opponent as vividly as they could. After a few moments, they rushed at each other once more. Santa Fe, both hands on his halberd, took a quick jab at the Khan, who sidestepped and plowed into Santa Fe again. The conquistador slid back a few feet, and managed to fully recover in time to lean into the axe that the Khan had swung, so that it glanced off of the iron breastplate.

The Khan certainly hadn't expected him to lean into the attack, and for a brief moment, hesitated. However, Santa Fe wasn't as quite a tactician, or as he viewed it, an opportunist born of necessity, as Montellier. His strategy didn't revolve in outplaying his opponent. He only needed to be stronger. He allowed Basilio to attack again, so as not to be accused of being dishonorable (as he assumed he would be). When Basilio attacked again, Santa Fe moved to dodge, but he judged its distance and realized it would fall just short of him. Rather than completely avoid the attack, leaving both fighters to recover and strike again, he leaned forward slightly so that the axe would hit the tip of the morion he wore instead of the noble headgear that the musketeers were so proud of. The morion was brought down over Santa Fe's eyes almost entirely, leaving a small slit at the bottom of the helmet where he could see the arena floor. He knew the axe was heavy due to the force it had hit his armor with, and having been in similar situations, knew Basilio would swing full force, and the whiffed attack would leave him extremely vulnerable for a few seconds. He released the halberd from his left hand, and span like Montellier had so that the halberd would slide forward due to centrifugal force. When he span backwards, the weapon was barely held by his right hand, and the extra momentum at the head of the weapon due to the imbalance in support, punctured Basilio's chest armor fairly handily, making a metallic pop as the as the spear like counterweight to the axe end of the halberd drove into the Khan's prized armor. Withdrawing the halberd into two hands once more, he took a step back and swung with all of his might horizontally to his front. The axe end struck right above the puncture, and when he felt no resistance, he knew that he had made a clean cut through the armor. As the sound of Basilio hitting the floor was heard, he slammed the handle end of the polearm into the ground so that it stood upright, fixed his morion, and picked up his weapon again, laughing. It wasn't a spiteful laugh, or an amused one. The man was thrilled.

Basilio was only slightly wounded. The blade end of the Halberd had grazed his skin due to the inches of space between his chest armor and skin acting as a buffer, and the puncture had only disoriented Basilio. He rose before charging at the conquistador, and as the conquistador raised his weapon in answer, Basilio ducked and hooked his axe around the ankles of the conquistador's boots, and pulled with all of his might. Santa Fe was yanked off of his feet and crashed onto the ground. Before he could get up, Basilio rose from his sweeping attack and swung down onto the breastplate. The sound of the puncture elicited a sound from the audience that was something like a grunt that comes with the sympathy of seeing a particularly clean strike, before Basilio's supporters erupted in applause. Basilio, his axe still embedded in the conquistador's armor, slid him across the ground one or two feet using the axe as leverage, before withdrawing it and roaring.

Montellier was a precise man. His entire personality revolved around preparation and execution. His cautious nature caused his killer instinct left over from war to snap into place in the opening of the fight with Flavia. Vicente Santiago del Santa Fe was not a precise man. He knew only that his enemies were to crash against him, and that he would not fall. He regarded this event as a friendly competition, and until this point, he had reveled in it. But it was here, when blood stained his casual undershirt and dust kicked up from his mighty fall, fell onto his sweat coated forehead, where his killer instinct was violently kickstarted.

Basilio's roar was answered by a louder one from the soldier, who was so beside himself with fury that, he opted to simply draw his simple cutlass than retrieve the halberd that was dropped just beyond the perception of his tunnel vision, and marched towards Basillio. Basilio, renewed with fervor from his last success, in turn, eagerly advanced and swung. Santa Fe rose his sword in front of his face, catching the lip of the war axe, and shoved the weapons forward. The axe, dual-bladed, impacted on the Khan's forehead. It was hardly a fatal wound, but the feeling of blood running down his face infuriated him as the chest wound had done so to the Guardian.

However, the Khan had always taken measures to control anger. He viewed it as an impedance in battle, and soldiers like Montellier were proof of this to him. So, when he struck with fury, the truly furious conquistador simply pushed the Khan's weapon aside each time, before slashing from Basilio's rather large shoulder piece, down across the armored parts of his body. Santa Fe was furious, but his morality remained; as much as he wanted to wall Basilio, he was able to maintain the notion that this was not a wartime environment, despite his anger.

This was observed by Montellier aloud, who had been hearing murmurs from the Khan's allies and friends in the room who were concerned about the sudden escalation in zeal. The Luminaire quietly complimented his perception. Each strike from the conquistador's cutlass that the Khan met with his axe tired him more and more, while the soldier hardly seemed fatigued, aside from the now profuse sweat on both fighters.

There came a moment where the Khan was finally walled. He couldn't strike again. Attacks that got past Santa Fe's offense simply glanced off of his armor, and at one point, his unarmored shoulder, though cut and bleeding severely, seemed to register no pain on the man's face. When he did manage to get past the cutlass strikes, he felt like his weapons would sooner break than the man before him would fall, and this hopelessness is what the Soldados Tercios inspired in every enemy. When the moment came, and Basilio's axe failed to raise due to his muscle failure from furiously trading blows with him, Santa Fe ended the match in the same way it had begun. He tucked his head into his shoulder and rammed Basilio into the wall, and when he rebounded, he rammed again, and then a third time, before finally stepping back and allowing him to fall. Basilio had never been more sapped of energy or will in his life. Two of his soldiers had to coax him off of the battlefield. As they did, a remorseful Santa Fe bounded up to the Khan and offered a small Castilian poniard as a sign of mutual respect to him. The victor was Vicente Santiago del Santa Fe, overseer of the Conquistadores and the Soldados Tercios.

The crowd, at one point more full of life than Ylisstol, eventually ebbed away until the only people at the arena were its personnel and the royal visitors. Montellier had already released his forces to the garrison in Ylisstol, Santa Fe did the same, and eventually the Luminaire did with the remainder of the Guardian forces there, via Montellier serving as something of a proxy.

The musketeer returned to see the Luminaire making conversation with Chrom and his family once more, and his friend Vicente had gotten into a spirited drinking contest with Basilio. He smiled subtly, and began to find a corner to read in (he carried a novel in his cargo pouch at all times) when he heard a familiar voice call out to him. "Hey, musketeer! I want to talk to you!" The voice was unusually assertive. He turned to see his former opponent from earlier in the day.


	4. The Interview

Arnaud Montellier was born in a town called Villerois, one that would become renowned within the Federation for both its writer's guild and its military academy, which Montellier had aspired to attend since his childhood. He was so infatuated with the idea of becoming a commissioned officer, whether a Royal or Federal one, as the Guardian military was divided that way, that he took his late father's sword with him in his teenage years, challenging whoever he perceived to be a scoundrel or ruffian marauding the streets of Villerois, and he typically had good fortune in that criminals who overpowered him usually found him amusing and thus let him escape with everything but his honor. Eventually a time came where he was met with the realization that this aspiration was beyond his means, and upon realizing this, he walked into the nearest recruiting station and enlisted into the Army, abandoning his hopes of a commission, with nothing but his father's sword and his mother's heavily worn silver pendant.

In one of the incidents where he had confronted two men harassing a young girl between a market and apothecary, the girl had escaped during the ensuing fight (only one of the ruffians was armed) and remembered the boy's name, as he had proudly proclaimed it as he lunged at the two men. She retold the incident to her father, who for about a week, fruitlessly searched Villerois for the man who had saved his daughter. As fate would have it, he was a captain in the Royal Army who was overseeing the recruiting station that Montellier had so desperately stumbled into. He heard the name told to the sergeant enlisting Montellier, and upon rushing out of his office to finally behold his daughter's rescuer, he found a boy instead of the man her daughter had endearingly described.

Upon exploring the boy's recollection of events, he understood that this was, in fact, the same person, and dismissed her daughter's embellishments as that – embellishments. Still, he was very impressed with the boy and the conversation that followed, and decided to send Montellier to the nearest Musketeer battalion in Marcelle for training. There, he won many hearts with his dutiful and reserved personality, oblivious to the hearts of the many women who pursued him and to the rivalries that many in his company held him to. His life would change on his first deployment, leaving the bustling streets of Marcelle and going to the front in a war with the neighboring country.

During the Siege of Cologne, Montellier's platoon was driven back and subsequently hammered by wave after wave of enemy reinforcements, leaving most of their men wounded or killed, and thirteen able to fight effectively, including Montellier. So many had been wounded that, being the only non-commissioned officer left, Montellier was now in command of the remainder of his platoon. Using two or three of his men as couriers while the rest held the line, he managed to coordinate the scattered survivors of the assault into one amalgamated line, which not only held until another company of musketeers arrived, but pushed over the city walls and raised their company and corps colors over the city hall as the battle ended.

Montellier remained in command of this mixed platoon and was given a field commission as a lieutenant, making him the executive officer of his company. They went on to participate in two more sieges, and his company was one of those isolated when their enemy had entirely cut off their supply chain. His actions were twice recognized by the Luminaire, and when the Luminaire rose to power in a country called Guardia, and reformed its military and founded the Federation, Montellier was nominated by many to be the Captain of the Guard for the Musketeer corps. Already familiar with his name, the Luminaire recommended Montellier to the new queen in the nation, and trusting his judgement implicitly, she immediately offered Montellier the official commission he had given up on years back, and arguably the most revered commission available at that.

Montellier related all of this to Khan Flavia, who had confronted him in the spectator's box that was now populated with many prestigious individuals from the factions that had participated in the tournament. Her request was surprisingly simple; she wished to have certain curiosities generated by the Guardians participation satisfied. When Montellier explained that a broad inquiry wasn't enough to go on, she (rather bluntly) suggested he begin with his own story. Appreciating the opportunity to reflect aloud, he did so, but regarding the look on her weathered visage, he understood that his attempts to generalize information regarding their military structure or society had only raised even more questions. He shared this thought with her.

"Your face tells me that I've failed to clear anything up. What else do you have, madame?" He smiled ever so slightly, hoping that it wasn't rude of him to have confused her. She was steadfast, however, and decided to individually satisfy each inquiry. She understood military organizational structure, so these terms weren't alien to her, but certain wordage the man had used were still unclear. Giving it more thought, she decided a broad question would answer more than single ones.

"You made it sound like you served before your government was established." She was direct, as those that knew her expected her to be. Montellier silently found this refreshing, as many he spoke to mistook his tendency for politeness as one for indirectness, and thus frustrated him in simple conversation. He began to explain this anomaly to the Khan, who found herself very interested with the Federation and Guardia itself, when he noticed the Prince's daughter not so subtly trying to eavesdrop. She was amusingly awkward, trying to be stealthy and inconspicuous in a setting where simply looking content and occupied would have served her well. He decided to humor her, and continued as if he hadn't noticed her, speaking up a bit so that she could hear.

"I did, and I did so intentionally. The Federation de Guardia – or, Guardian Federation if you so prefer – is exactly that. It's a federation of several governments and militaries that existed before the Luminaire came to power." Khan Flavia discreetly glanced at the Luminaire, who was speaking with the Prince's merchant, apparently not immune to her charms. He didn't seem very powerful or silver-tongued. In fact, he seemed entirely too ordinary. As if sensing her doubt, Montellier elaborated. "Where the Luminaire draws strength is different than you or I. He is not the strongest, the fastest, or the most precise with a sword. He is often clumsy, often anxious, and often quite naïve when it comes to diplomacy. But, the reason he succeeds and others, like myself, follow him so adamantly is because he has learned to take all of his experiences and combine them, amalgamate them, rather than replace old, seemingly obsolete knowledge. I've seen him fight many who should have prevailed against him, but at all the right times, he is as precise and direct as an assassin, as bold and tenacious as a knight, as quick and fluid as a thief, and as willful as any. And, he used this to his advantage when the queen of Guardia enlisted his aide in her own adventure. The Luminaire was already esteemed in my country, and that of my good friend Vicente over there." Montellier gestured to Santa Fe, who had lost the drinking contest and was now enthusiastically arm wrestling a wooden fixture near him, thinking Basilio had remained at the site of the contest, shouting encouragements and banter the entire time.

"But, the Luminaire felt that he had all this power without any purpose. He had initially only aided the leaders of our nations as he had come across them, and in my case, our leader had been killed by assassins of a longtime foe. In Vicente's, his queen only wished authority in some situations, asking the Luminaire to take charge of the rest. He felt somewhat overwhelmed by the sudden responsibility, and that his earlier experiences in war and in leadership could only take him so far. But, that changed when he came to Guardia."

Khan Flavia once again looked to the young man, who politely turned down most of the drinks offered to him, smiling warmly each time. The tale didn't seem to match up. Montellier ignored her doubts now, and continued, "When he arrived in Guardia, he aided the queen – then just the princess – initially only out of, what he felt, was an obligation. Over time, he became sympathetic to her plight and guided her cause to its resolution. He called for soldiers from several countries he had aided to ease the unrest that followed, but when he caught word of a growing rebellion against the royal family, primarily the princess herself, he committed most of the forces he had to the nation."

"The resulting conflict was bloody and intense, but it was very short lived. The rebellion's leader was charismatic and persuasive when it came to building his forces, but many of his troops became disillusioned as they were continuously beaten by legionnaires, musketeers, line infantry, and so on. Now, around this time, the queen was crowned, and took her father's place on the throne. Not wanting to abandon her to rule the country on her own, the Luminare approached her with a very ambitious proposition."

"He offered his causeless soldiers, his leaderless territory, and his unused resources to the queen, in exchange for authority to reform what he understood to be a flawed government that had long instigated race wars and a general lack of unity. She agreed, and established the position of Luminaire that same day. He gave her broad authority over all of the power and resources he had obtained over time, while ensuring states that would be established still had sovereignty. They would have a sort of senate, a regular summit where representatives of each member state were to resolve any and all issues with the collective resources of this group. We have a collective military and collective projects. Otherwise, each is left to their own resources and projects as any sovereign state is entitled to. This was the basis of the Federation, and as the queen of the former Guardia oversees it, it is so called the Guardian Federation."

He smiled, and gave her a moment to process. Then we she indicated an understanding, he continued, "Following this, he divided the military cleanly into two groups; the Federal military, who served the Federation and the Luminaire, and the Royal military, who primarily served the queen and her will above all else. He shared with her technology, resources, and population, and the resulting nation is what you see represented by our soldiers here today. Each citizen has their own roots and citizenship that they acknowledge and can be proud of, but when threatened, we can collectively unite and be proud of each other under a single banner, that of Guardia."

There was a pause, and the Captain took it as another opportunity to speak. "I actually find it quite a romantic system. The idea of different people all uniting on principle under a single banner…it really is a nice thought. It was surely tested before, and the Guardian citizens and soldiers have all sacrificed to uphold it. And that is why I know the system works; we were tried and yet, here we stand, proudly representing ourselves in this very tournament." He smiled again. "Of course, there are inherent flaws, but overall, I'm very happy to call myself Guardian and to serve my queen and my Luminaire. Alors, it is rude of me, to carry on like this, without any input from you. I understand that you all have been tried by a very heroic struggle of your own, given what I've heard. I am inclined to ask that my own questions be answered, as I wish to know more of it, as you - and that young woman there - have so politely endured me spouting of history and personal stories." He nodded in Lucina's direction, who visibly tensed up as he referenced her, and she tried to play it off as if she hadn't been listening the entire time.

Montellier hoped to accomplish two things by dispelling whatever shroud she believed she was hidden by. He found the young woman interesting, and wished to know why she had made such an effort to remain unnoticed the entire time, and moreover, knowing that he would be unable to finish the novel that was now sitting on the table that he also rested his boots on, he wished to hear their story in its stead. Flavia, direct as always, called out to the princess, and she sheepishly made her way to the conversation. While Flavia looked slightly annoyed, Montellier smiled warmly and motioned his gloved hand to the benches that he and Flavia had been conversing on. "If you please, madame. I appreciate the perspective from two heroes, rather than just the one." His moustache curled as he smiled, and his stark, silver eyes flickered to the rhythm of the various lighting fixtures around the room.

Lucina and Flavia both admired his demeanor. He was almost excessively polite, but when he spoke, he never came off as pretentious or condescending. Truly a gentleman, he regarded everyone as an equal until they gave him proof of the opposite, and even then he maintained a respectful air. Thus, they obliged and began to recount the war that had just recently concluded with the destruction of Grima, an entity that had meant the end of Lucina's own world.

It was easy to explain the early events of the war, mostly recapped by Flavia, as they were ostensibly the product of border tensions and nasty politics, which Montellier was certainly familiar with. Lucina, on the other hand, struggled to find a way to explain the more surreal aspects of the tale, especially when it came to how she had come through a gate from a doomed future to avert it in this one. It seemed to her, that while more technologically advanced, the Guardian people had no concept of what seemed staples to life in Ylisse and her world in general. Dragons, mages, even common animals like pegasi astounded the visitors, who eagerly jotted down notes and sketches of what they thought were marvels. In fact, the only Guardians she knew to have a working understanding of even simple magic were higher ups, such as the Luminaire and potentially Montellier.

She was surprised to find that Montellier was very much informed. He asked one or two questions on points he felt were unclear, and listened with the caring eyes of a concerned friend. Lucina eventually became comfortable and, unknown even to her, she began to speak with him as she spoke with Robin or even he father. She was no longer visibly awkward and after a moment, even Flavia was taken aback by how fast she had warmed up to Montellier. Montellier had a working understanding of gates, perhaps more so than even Lucina, as apparently the Federation networked their empire using them. And, when she described Grima, he related that in his early life he would have not believed stories like hers, but travelling with the Luminaire, and serving while the Federation expanded to different lands and cultures, made him an open minded man. He expressed his sentiment for both Flavia's and Lucina's struggles, and even apologized, which left them both in a mild sense of disbelief. He had no reason to apologize as he had, but somehow it felt genuine and tender all the same.

The hours passed, and Montellier remained at his seat for most of the event. Flavia left after this discussion, her curiosity satisfied (for now) and began to monitor Basilio's partying. Virion, a nobleman who served Ylisse as an archer, made his way over to Lucina and Montellier briefly. He complimented Montellier, and noted that they were the only true gentlemen here, which Montellier silently found rather prideful, but continued to politely make small talk until the archer's fancy took him to a corner of the room where two red-headed women were arguing about something. After Virion, Vaike, Stahl, and Sully, approached Lucina and Montellier, and tried to coax either one of them into merging with one of the larger groups in the room. It was clear to Montellier that Sully and Stahl were some sort of cavalier, but couldn't quite peg what role Vaike had on the battlefield. He naturally likened him to Basilio. He politely declined, thinking only of the twist in his novel that he had briefly glanced at before Flavia had approached him.

Lucina, finding some similarities between herself and the musketeer also declined, although she was markedly less tactful than the soldier. When Sully bluntly implied that Lucina had developed a crush on the man, Lucina panicked and denied it as wholeheartedly as she could. She clumsily tried to negotiate her way out of the conversation; her repeated attempts to deny the implication only confirmed it to the trio. In truth, she had been genuine. She merely found Montellier to be a sort of soothing presence, providing a brief respite from what had been a perpetually stressful life. She didn't know how to explain that to the mildly inebriated Sully, who continued to prod her until she confessed.

Montellier was a very perceptive man.

"Madame?" He had been reading for most of the conversation, but at Sully's efforts he carefully placed his thumb at the bottom of his page and closed the book. Sully looked up, and rather lazily, replied. "What's going on with you over there, guy? Leaving a girl to writhe in her feelings like this, it's cowardly – it's outright craven!" Lucina, now completely overtaken with guilt that Montellier, who had innocently been avoiding the awkward discussion, was now being directly dragged into it. She looked at him as if to say, "I'm sorry." Montellier, normally entirely composed and stalwart, visibly flinched at the word craven. Still, he shoved his sudden disdain for the woman aside.

"Madame, I apologize for interrupting your…interrogation, shall we say?" Montellier's face seemed to imply that this was the rudest he had been to someone in a very long time.

"However, I find myself obliged to intervene as you, knowingly or not, are harassing this young lady here." He spoke much more quickly than he normally did. He took odd pauses as he spoke, as if putting his words into order. Sully's insult had really derailed the man, who had completely forgotten the elaborate conversation he had planned moments before closing his book. Now, he stood. "It is decidedly apparent to me, and I emphasize, _decidedly_ , that this young woman is merely exhausted. I've seen her running about all day, tending to politicians and noblemen and the townspeople, undoubtedly for her dear father's sake – who is, may I remind you, the party that invited me and my men here - and during her moment of rest here, I selfishly asked her to recount her story to me when I'm sure she only wished to take a breath. I'm sure you believe she is entitled to a moment of rest, and I have to say, your efforts to insinuate something are clearly making the girl uncomfortable. I ask that you, as clearly the most headstrong of your group, allow her what she deserves. Had I done half as much as her today, I'd be entirely spent."

Montellier had been riled up. He was silently ashamed for what he felt was acting out of order. Still, he had sympathy for Lucina after hearing her tale, and couldn't bear to see her own friends make her so uncomfortable. He had been set on the path to the military when he had confronted men harassing a girl, and now he found it entirely appropriate to abandon some of his bearing in another's defense. Sully was still reeling from the scolding, and Stahl, being the levelheaded individual of the group, stepped in front of Sully, who was letting the words simmer in her mind before swearing indiscriminately in Stahl and Sully's direction.

Montellier was pleased to see some aspect of respect return to the outing.

"Defending the woman? I'm glad that there is still some nobility in your group. Madame had me worried. If you intend to draw, I mean to have my own second. I'm afraid I don't trust the arbitration of a duel to inebriated folk, no matter their caliber."

It had been a long time since Montellier had been so offended that he was willing to duel for his honor. Stahl, however, was decidedly tact.  
"A –a duel? T-there's no need, sir! All we have here is a misunderstanding. My friend is really a blunt person, and the truth is, we have trouble corralling that ourselves." At this, Sully spat and continued to throw a tantrum, held back by Vaike, just barely. Stahl continued, "Sully just wants Lucina to find herself a good husband already. That's all. We all consider each other family, and she's just concerned that Lucina will eventually become lonely. She has the best intentions possible." Stahl looked at Montellier earnestly.

Montellier sighed. "I see." He released his hand from the hilt of his rapier, which Stahl had just noticed he had been grasping. Montellier made amends.

"It seems I was out of line, then. I apologize to you, and when she is of a better state of mind, I will apologize to madame as well. Is this acceptable?" Stahl smiled, ever the kindred spirit. "There's no need for apology. It was just an honest misunderstanding. This never happened."

Montellier respected this man very much due to this conversation. "Then, I am happy to have made your acquaintance. As recompense, you have a favor from me, if you ever need it." He extended his hand, which Stahl accepted. Then, as the group left, to Sully's chagrin, Montellier seated himself and picked up his book once more. As he scanned for his place, he spoke to Lucina, who was looking down out of guilt.

"I am familiar with the personality you have, milady." Lucina looked up at the man, who was diligently scanning each page and deftly turning them as he looked. He continued, "I pride myself on perception, but I must admit, I only find myself tuned in to the nuances of your personality because it is similar to my commander's. He is also uncomfortable at functions like this, and it was clear that you were simply hoping to find a moment of peace when you remained here. Because of that, I knew your friends implying such a thing must have caused you distress. I had the best intentions when I spoke. I apologize for getting carried away." He looked up as if thinking. "No offense, but you are just as socially awkward as the Luminaire… that is saying something."

Lucina was surprised. "He seems so confident. I don't understand." Lucina had never perceived the Luminaire as anything but socially and intellectually adept. Montellier looked up with a sly, but subtle grin. "Oh, he's very uncomfortable in situations like this. He regards your father as a friend, but many here he doesn't really associate with. He was so desperate to get out of here, he challenged your father to a private contest about half an hour ago to spare himself more of it." Lucina realized that, true to the musketeer's word, the Luminaire and Chrom were nowhere to be found. "Truly, you two are of a like mind. Perhaps you should speak with him. He is a good friend to have. I should know." He found his place and began to read.

Lucina smiled for a split second. She thanked Montellier, who nodded, and began to look for her father, when Montellier called out to her. "Madame Lucine?" Lucina turned around and acknowledged him. "I also apologize if I had harassed you when I invited you to partake in the conversation with me and Flavia. I only wished to make you comfortable." Lucina smiled at him, now maintaining it for a few seconds. "You did, milord. You have my thanks." With that, she took her leave and left the box to find her father and the Luminaire, ensuring that the duel had not endangered her father.


	5. The Incident

The wind lightly rushed across the plains of Ylisse, leaving an air of freedom and tranquility about the company of Guardian soldiers in formation, near a hamlet just near the Plegian border. The foreigners split their forces up. One company went under Santa Fe to the Feroxi towns threatened, a company of his specialized cavalry, called conquistadores, and a company of his Soldados Tercios, soldiers who mixed their armament for a robust defense, using muskets to thin the ranks of the enemy, and pikes for cavalry and any soldiers that made it past the volleys of gunfire.

To the west, at the sea linking Valm and Ylisse, the highest ranking officer of the Minutemen Corps present at the tournament, a man named Newport, was given command of the Minutemen and authority to act on their own to aid the locals and the Ylissean soldiers being sent to quell the sudden raids. Montellier took his musketeers (aside from the few musketeers attached to other companies) and legionnaires and went to the north in an effort to find the source of all these raids, as it was the one area not routinely patrolled and monitored. The Luminaire took a company of Guardian Line Infantry and the elite bodyguards that he had recruited in an earlier conquest, and marched south, where reports had begun to flood in about attacks from grotesque soldiers. The description was odd, but he built this force regardless. There was more than a company's worth of the mainline unit, so he distributed the excess soldiers as extra platoons in the other Guardian companies travelling the continent.

Here, on this field of wild grass, voltigeurs in the company looked nervously at the massing formation at the other end of the plain, where it met a small sect of woods leading into Plegia. They carried a Plegian battle standard, but their uniforms didn't match the ones the Guardians had observed at the tournament. Then again, there seemed to be very little consistency when it came to the uniforms on this continent. If anything, the soldiers here associated with like fighters more than organizational levels like companies, when it came to identification. The Plegians milled about anxiously, only seeding anxiety in the Guardian scouts, deep in unfamiliar territory, felt as if an attack could come from anywhere, especially this large group standing within a thousand meters from the Guardian formation.

The voltigeurs had been sent to draw conclusions, but the sight of the horde slowly pouring out of the treeline spurred the company commander to call for a defensive formation. The Luminaire and some of Chrom's war party were riding just behind the main group, alongside the royal guards assigned to him by the regent overseeing the Federation. Chrom had sent the members of his former campaign to act as his representatives, as he did with the other Guardian companies. With the Luminaire specifically, were Gregor, a weathered mercenary, Cordelia, a member of an order of Pegasus Knights, and the Prince's famed tactician, Robin, a woman whose legend had even infiltrated those told by the lore-loving Guardians. Hoping to make a good impression on the Luminaire, the commander, a Captain Rochefort, hoped to resolve this minor impasse before his arrival.

He sent the same two voltigeurs gathering information into the Plegian town across the border, an action that would have been risky were it not for the following events. As the voltigeurs would later conclude, these Plegians had been massing because they belonged to a religious sect, apparently the losers in the war the Prince of Ylisse had waged prior to the Federation's arrival in the country. They were disgruntled to the suddenly cordial relations between Plegia and Ylisse, and had been hoping to strain relations between the nations.

Before the scouts could return with their findings, a yell was heard from the Plegian forces, then several more, then the sound of their entire group rushing in the direction of the Guardian soldiers. The Guardians, in formation and in full view of the horde, exchanged nervous glances, and the junior soldiers expressed their concerns to each other, in quick panicked statements before being hushed by non-commissioned officers who were, themselves, unsure of what was about to happen. The charge grew faster, and the Plegians' shouts were suddenly becoming frenzied and primal. Some of the men charging the Guardian formation were so beside themselves with rage they had dropped their weapons, with a look of indescribable emotion on their face. Some of the shouts were completely indecipherable, while some were words the Guardians just couldn't make out.

One or two soldiers in the Guardian formation shifted nervously, before quickly returning to the position of attention, not quite ready to lose their bearing. In moments, the soldiers in formation were able to make out details in the armor their assailants bore, as their leadership argued up and down the chain of command as to what the proper procedure was, as this was a sensitive issue; bad judgement could mean hostile relations with the country, or even the whole of the continent.

Captain Rochefort grew impatient, and ordered the company First Sergeant to order a company-wide firing line, believing the charge would be shattered when faced with the unfamiliar technology in Guardian hands. The First Sergeant, a man who had been enlisted for most of his life, insisted that falling back until more information could be gathered was the best thing to do. Then, angered by his diminishing time to resolve the issue, and his First Sergeant's lack of compliance, he loudly barked at the entire company to level their weapons and fire.

Before the First Sergeant could tell the company to disregard the order, the more anxious men quickly obeyed, and pulled the triggers on their rifles as the words to ignore the order left the NCO's mouth. Most of the company had hesitated, acknowledging there was confusion, but the small percentage of the company that had immediately obeyed Captain Rochefort had already peppered the charge with rifle fire. Some thirteen shots were fired in rapid succession, and around the same number of Plegians dropped to the ground, dead or critically wounded. At this point, the more conscious members of the party, mostly dark mages and cavaliers stopped their charge, looked back to the woods, and at the wall of rifles, as if debating between a cremation or a burial.

Once the first shots rang out across the once tranquil plain, the wind was drowned out by rifle fire. Thinking themselves wrong since shots were fired, the rest of the company quickly levelled their rifles and fired into the mass of Plegian troops. The NCO's had already taken command at this point, and they coordinated the lines, ordering another volley, then another volley, then a pause. As the next volley was being readied, some of the soldiers began to desperately flag down their NCO's and squad leaders, causing even more confusion, which led to some of the men in the company to believe that a "fire at will" order had been given. Some of the mages and horsemen who had stayed back somewhat were now being picked off, as the company was no longer firing volleys; they were picking their targets.

The First Sergeant glared at Captain Rochefort, before deciding his duty to his men was the most pressing matter, and began to coordinate the firing line himself, to make the best odds of the situation. However, some of the squad and platoon level NCO's began to order their men to cease fire, which was eagerly echoed by the First Sergeant as he heard it. As the last few Guardians stopped firing, both the First Sergeant and Captain saw why a cease fire was called.

Behind the now decimated Plegian force was a horde, an unorganized, yet deliberate horde of men, inching forward in battered, broken armor and with scars along their miscolored faces and skin. They had chased the Plegians out of the forest, and the Plegians had massed at the edge of the forest because they were unsure of how the Guardians would react. They had rushed up the hill to escape the Risen, and their shouts of fury and zeal had only been shouts of terror, and one Plegian, now on his knees on the field, blood seeping from his chest, was even yelling for help from the foreigners, despite their ill intentions of causing unrest in Ylisse days before. The Guardians were unable to make this out, and he was one of the men plugged during the second volley. He had been shouting the word "Help" the entire time, and as his energy slowly left him, he still muttered it into the grass, having clutched onto the idea of Guardian aid for hope in his final moments of desperation.

The Luminaire was within earshot of the gunfire, and when it erupted into timed volleys, he spurred his horse and bound to the agreed point as fast as his horse would take him. The scene he was met with was almost incomprehensible; On one side were his soldiers, only about half in formation, while the rest ran into the middle of the field to aid and retrieve the second group, what looked to be Plegian soldiers, almost entirely incapacitated. Only a handful were capable of lifting themselves up without assistance. Behind this middle group, was a massing of Risen at least twice the size of the Guardian company. Normally, this wouldn't have concerned the Luminaire too much. In the last war he had fought, his men were rarely in possession of an advantage of numbers. However, many of his men were rushing to aid the decimated Plegians, preventing the rest of his men to suppress the advancing Risen, an enemy they were unfamiliar with, leaving the infantrymen furthest from the formation to grapple with the Risen in melee combat, using their bayonets as best they could to ward off the resilient Risen.

Robin, ever observant, realized what had occurred before the Luminaire could fully absorb the situation, perhaps shocked. She pointed it out to him, quietly suppressing her own feelings of the gruesome scene in front of her. This was her first time seeing the soldiers of the Federation in genuine combat, and it seemed to her that it was a very high risk, high reward sort of military. The scene was horrible to her, and she was not a stranger to war. The Luminaire had already made a decision. He drew his sword, and steered his horse towards the formation taking single potshots at the melee, trying to avoid friendly fire. Robin, the rest of Chrom's allies, and his bodyguards followed.

He rode past the formation, barking his own orders. He was now assuming direct command of the company.

"Voltigeurs, fall out into the tree line!" The designated men fell out, as they were skilled at sharpshooting and concealing themselves, unlike line infantry, which relied on order and solidarity to succeed. Before long, puffs of gunsmoke were just barely visible in trees and foliage lining the plain, and some of the Risen were stalled by the sudden presence of effective fire.

The Luminaire stopped his horse in front of the formation and raised his sword. "Fix bayonets, fall into your squads!" The soldiers quickly reorganized, and the soldiers who were not in the front line mounted their bayonets, as those in the front line already had.

"If you're an NCO and you see your soldier out there, recover him!" He was speaking to the leaders of the group. To the whole group, he gave instruction.

"Form lines in front of the tree line once you push the enemy out of the area with wounded."

Then, after ensuring all of his men were prepared for close quarters combat, he dismounted, followed by his bodyguards, Gregor, and Robin, then ordered a charge to the First Sergeant, who raised his saber and relayed the order. The riflemen all rushed forward, maintaining their organization and even a rough line as they rushed across the plain. Some men fell out of the charge to recover men who had been aiding the wounded. Before joining the charge himself, the Luminaire looked at Robin and made his case.

"Robin, I need your help. I understand its my responsibility to resolve this, but I can't do it without you all." He was referring to Chrom's representatives. Robin, initially wanting to scold the man for his army, saw genuine guilt in his eyes, and decided it could wait. She nodded, and began to give orders to her allies as she had in the war.

"Cordelia, I don't need you attacking the Risen, I need you recovering any wounded you can and bringing them here. Only help in the fighting if it's truly necessary." Cordelia saluted crisply, before acknowledging the order and bounding off to the very middle of the field on her mount, where the charging Guardians were about to cross.

"Gregor, help push the Risen back as best you can. These soldiers have never fought them before; I need you to fight as hard as you can so you can show them that the Risen are tough, not invincible." Gregor laughed, made a pun that the Luminaire actually had to stop and think about, and ran off into the melee that was about to initiate.

The Luminaire bowed, and thanked her wholeheartedly. She gave him a stern look, which implied a conversation would be had after the Risen had been driven back.

The few Guardians who had been at the edge of the killzone when the Risen advanced were unable to fight off the horde. Three fled back to the main force, one was killed as he fled by a Risen casting some sort of explosive magic that was alien to the Luminaire and his men, and two were desperately fighting back with their bayonets as arrows embedded themselves into the soldiers' bodies and as swords cut across their core. They had managed to fell some Risen, who dissipated in a cloud of ash, but they were very clearly at their limits.

The sound of boots and holsters clapping against uniforms was of great relief to them, and the sound of the clashing of rifle against lance, saber against sword, and body against ground erupted into the sky. It was clear that the Guardians were at home in melee; they fought much harder than Robin had expected, believing them to rely on range in battle. The company's First Sergeant was furiously slashing at the shield toting fighter before him, the infantrymen were defiantly maintaining their line against every push from the knights and swordsmen in the ranks of the undead, and the Luminaire weaved throughout the battlefield, picking his fights carefully but still leaping to the defense of each soldier he saw struggle. Gregor was happy to have stalwart comrades, and for every soldier he saw withstand a blow, he returned it to the enemy doubly out of respect for the Guardians. Robin did her best to pick off the enemy mages, because she knew that her new allies were completely unaccustomed to such enemies. Her accuracy was appreciated by those soldiers, as they still secretly feared the bolts of lighting and pillars of fire erupting from the tactician's attacks.

Finally, the Risen were pushed back to the forest edge, and suddenly the Luminaire, and his men stopped advancing and even fell back a few meters. Robin and Gregor were utterly confused, before the First Sergeant yanked Robin out of the way and the Luminaire tugged on Gregor, who happily complied and fell behind the forming wall of rifles.

The Risen believed to have gained momentum, and marched directly into the line as the order thundered across the formation.

"Fire all!"

With that, their rifles roared in unison, unlike during the debacle that began the skirmish, punching holes in the advance, and the company again returned to volleys. Roar after roar, an order, then the rifle fire, over and over until the last Risen soldier evaporated into ash.

Fifty-six Plegians had been killed during the skirmish. Another eighty-eight had suffered severe wounds from the gunfire, having waltzed into it, desperate for an escape from the Risen. Nineteen Guardians had been killed by the Risen, another thirty wounded, but very few were major injuries. Cordelia had recovered twenty-six of the wounded Plegians herself, the rest dragged and carried back by the riflemen. The battle had lasted just over two hours.

That night, the company raised tents to house the wounded and the soldiers themselves, giving most of the leadership their own tents. The Luminaire shared his with the First Sergeant and the Captain, while Robin, Cordelia, and Gregor each had their own, at his the Guardian leader's insistence.

The company fed the wounded, and after that, they received their meals and took the opportunity to unwind a bit. The Luminaire arranged for some food and drink, he shared a brief, but pleasant conversation with Gregor about the role of a soldier during peacetime, and in society, before Gregor poked fun at the man for being unable to move him during the battle. The Luminaire was ostensibly steadfast, but internally, he was self-conscious, so he made a ploy to get out of the conversation, when he turned to see Robin glaring at him while Cordelia happily made conversation with her.

Robin was technically Plegian, so he felt he had especially offended her; In fact, when they had an opportunity to speak before setting out, he had assured her he would minimize casualties across the continent, and that his men were very professional and very dedicated to the civilian populace of any country, and the scene they had beheld upon their arrival at the border seemed a testament to the opposite and his promise was not kept.

Not skilled at confrontation, he feigned ignorance and retreated to his tent. After rolling about on his bedroll for a bit, his guilty conscience overwhelmed him, and he set out to make amends. He shoved his feelings of mild fear aside as best he could.


End file.
